


The Violinist

by aMantaRay



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drabble, Finalizer, Gen, Hux loves his ship, Music, Star Destroyer, de-stress, im a woodwind player so im allowed to make fun of them, short and sweet, thrawn is a composer..., violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aMantaRay/pseuds/aMantaRay
Summary: The general's found a way to de-stress at the end of his long days at work.
Kudos: 5





	The Violinist

**Author's Note:**

> Just a really short Hux drabble.
> 
> Enjoy....

The daily pattern was simple. After his time on the bridge, the general stalked to his quarters on the _Finalizer_ , his beloved _Finalizer_ , before shutting the door behind him. He relaxed along with the hiss of the door, breath releasing in unison as he dragged his hand through his naturally red hair. A few pieces fell to settle against his forehead, the rest remaining in place due to the amount of product used much earlier the same morning. Image to the crew was important after all. Hux was a general, _the_ general, of the First Order. Image was everything.

Hux started toward his small closet, shrugging his shoulders to allow the longcoat to slip from his frame and into nimble fingers. The uniform was hung up neatly on a hanger, tunic and trousers, once folded, following into their allotted slots. Leaving on his standard, First Order, tank top style undershirt, the general pulled on soft, gray pajama pants, choosing to stay barefoot in his room. At least now that the day was through.

The general was a violinist. A classical violinist to be more precise.

The violin stayed hidden in its hard case, tucked up underneath his bed until the general was ready for it. He pulled it from its place and settled it carefully on his bed, practiced fingers unlatching the lid and letting it drop back onto the mattress, revealing the wood. 

Something so rarely crafted, so beautifully crafted only made him more protective of his instrument. A faint smile managed its way onto his pale lips before it slipped away, the general’s passive features returning. 

He knew that the crew was aware of his...ah, hobby. He supposed that was the correct term to describe his evening activity. But, the crew let him be and kept quiet. He was certain the occasional officer would wander down his hall to listen. That was a nice feeling. 

Hux grasped the instrument by the neck, pulling it from its case along with the bow. The sound of the instrument itself soothed the general. He had always hated the obnoxious noise of woodwinds and brass, hating the way the noise could be projected ridiculously loudly and more often than not ended up as one big cacophony. Especially if the musicians were unskilled players. 

The way the instrument in his hands could be played so...elegantly is what drew him in. It seemed as if the variety of sounds from the instrument could fit into nearly any scenario that the general could think of. Classical music needed? Perfect. Jazz? More difficult, but doable. Jaunty tunes for a night at the bar? Absolutely. Emotional and graceful and legato...that was his favorite. _His second love_ , he mused. Of course, nothing could compete with his _Finalizer_ , but he’d admit his music was a close runner up. 

Hux perched himself on the edge of his desk chair, lifting his datapad to sift through his stored pages of sheet music, settling on a symphony written by Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Empire before. 

Hux settled the instrument beneath his chin, plucking the strings gently, tuning the instrument by ear. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the datapad on its stand, and took a slow deep breath to let out the worries and stress of the day. Acknowledge it...let it pass. 

He raised the bow, and the general began to play.


End file.
